Columbine upon my desk,
a dusty pinkish
unstable shade of purple -
aquilegia vulgaris -
thought to be thankless,
even a sign of ingratitude
this Orphelian flower.
Mine has ten doves in a circle,
though tradition claims it seven:
Holy Mary’s footsteps,
Isaiah’s Gifts of the Spirit.
For me it must remain those final bell-like
chords of Messiaen’s La Columbe,
described in his mother’s verse as
'Cloches d’angoisse et larmes d’adieu’.

Secret Garden

Rose buds dressed in pastel pink,
Waxy coats,
Keep secrets locked tight,
Till they bloom,
They'll never tell,
Not indiscreet,
As buds are open,
All set free,
Release sweet secrets to you and me,

Fuschia dark awaits her popping,
As child,
Was a game,
Her secret's darker than her flower,
That's why she stays locked tight!

Aquilegia, my Columbine,
Keeps delicate secrets,
Safe in fragile name,
As dainty dancer,
Secrets safe from Pantaloon,
Les Millions d' Arlequin,
Harlequin seeks his columbine,
A comedy of errors,
He'll never find!

Garden secrets will release if in crazy error,
The grass finds out,
Whispering in tongues,
With conscience sadly lacking,
On breezy days,
As zephyr lifts,
Malachite secrets,
Malevolence released!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

With his long narrow beak he drank
drawing out nectar from a flower
it was an Eastern Red Columbine,  
an Aquilegia wild desire ...

Nature was singing a sweet refrain
sending sunshine to my visitor
with wings spread he extracted,  
using a tubular beak and tongue;

He was a welcome guest
inside this beautiful garden  
From a latticed gazebo I espied
as he took delight, in every sip